Addendum from last night: we had dinner at Oval Park Grille. I really wanted to like it – and the rye cocktail I had was really good, despite its long stupid name.
But the food fell prey to the same problem I’ve seen at other newish local restaurants: great ingredients smothered in large quantities of overly intense sauces. I had the trout, and my whole plate tasted intensely of vinegar. Had there just been a wee drizzle of the sauce across the top, it would have been a nice complement to the relatively sweet fish. But it was swimming.
The good news is that this is a correctable problem. The bad news is that the chances of it correcting itself are relatively slim.
Then again, Piedmont had a similar problem early on under the current regime, and judging from my last trip there, anyway, it has been more or less resolved there. So maybe I’ll give OPG six months and then try again.
Today was a pretty standard Sunday. M left town this afternoon for a few days with her dad in Kentucky, so I’m at home alone, and took advantage of that to [re]watch Myra Breckinridge. It’s kind of a disaster, but a fascinating one. Where else can you see a 77-year-old Mae West tell dirty jokes & sing “Hard to Handle?”
My 21st-century conscience tells me I should be sad about the scene where Raquel Welch rapes Roger Herren with a strap-on, but we’re talking about a 1970 movie whose titular character’s stated goal was to demolish masculinity, so I kinda gotta give it some props. Especially since she’s wearing a red-white-and-blue tankini number when she does it.
I got a new y-peeler from Cocktail Kingdom & this evening I used it to shave a divot out of one of my knuckles, so I can vouch for its sharpness.